


Find & Hold

by buckysbears (DrZebra)



Category: The Dragon Prince (Cartoon)
Genre: Bullying, Emotional Baggage, Everyone Needs A Hug, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Language Barrier, Light Angst, Sign Language, do i have to carry this found family myself, i can't believe there was no option for amaya & soren already, in which viren is a Bad Dad and soren is still coming to realize that, season 3 spoilers kind of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-08
Updated: 2019-12-08
Packaged: 2021-02-18 02:40:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21720433
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DrZebra/pseuds/buckysbears
Summary: Amaya has a hard time not seeing Soren as the same little kid she watched grow up at the castle.(In which Soren may be "grown up" but he's still a son to a bad man and things still hurt him.In which Amaya is a protector by nature but also gives good hugs.)
Relationships: Amaya & Soren
Comments: 33
Kudos: 215





	Find & Hold

**Author's Note:**

  * For [agentcalliope](https://archiveofourown.org/users/agentcalliope/gifts).



> i got goaded into writing this so :))) blame agentcalliope 
> 
> amaya .., adopt soren? yes??

It’s the light that gets her eye—Soren’s armor glinting in the sun. Amaya looks up, just to make sure nothing’s wrong, then turns her eyes back down to her book. She’s resting up against a tree, feet pointed towards the fire. She’s exhausted. They all are.

Something makes her look back up. She isn’t sure what it is. Some feeling in her gut—she’s good at paying attention to those—all the little twinges, the tweaks, the second instinct that prods at her mind and says _pay attention, pay attention now, Amaya_. She listens to her body. It’s saved her a time or two.

So she looks back up, just enough that she can see as Soren ambles his way over to Callum, who’s hunched over his sketchbook. She watches with a careful eye as Soren leans over.

“What’cha doing?” he asks. It takes Amaya a moment to make out the ‘ _what’cha_ ’. Only Soren seems to be so sloppy with his speech.

His face is calm, but it’s easy to tell he’s tired by the lines of his body. He’d fought hard on the battlefield. Amaya was surprised the boy—man now, technically—hadn’t complained more about it. In the times she was at the castle, she’d watched him grow up; she forgets sometimes he isn’t the same little kid. 

Amaya does a lot more watching than people think.

Callum says something. His head is turned down to his sketchbook, so she can’t read his lips. She assumes it’s something about runes or spells—she’s been seeing the movement of his charcoal, and it isn’t letters.

“Can I help?”

Callum’s head shakes. He waves a hand.

Soren’s mouth forms a “I want to s—” but then he’s diving for the sketchbook, and Amaya misses the rest. There’s a brief struggle as the two boys smack at each other.

Amaya sets down her book.

Finally, Callum wrestles it from Soren’s grasp. She thinks they’ve been fussing at each other, but she only catches the tail end, Callum’s angry eyebrows and the “Can’t you just go somewhere else?”

Amaya stands.

They both turn to her, startled.

“Callum.” Her movements are bold and harsh. “Don’t be rude.”

“Me?” Callum’s mouth opens and closes a few times, but she doesn’t think he’s actually making noise. He points at himself, then the older boy. “He was the one who—”

“Why can’t he look?”

Callum’s head shakes, like he can’t believe what he’s seeing. He gapes for a few more seconds, then his chest jumps in what Amaya has come to realize is a scoff.

“He wouldn’t understand it anyway.”

She glares. Callum’s mouth clamps shut.

“Aunt Amaya …” he signs, looking sheepish. “Please don’t—”

But her hands are already flying—too fast, she knows, for him to keep up. He gets the gist. This is a chewing out if he’s ever seen one, and he doesn’t need an interpreter to know she’s unhappy. He shrinks back as she continues, hands cutting and jabbing, fingers pointing and curling. He nods, a wince on his face.

Eventually, he holds up a hand in surrender. The other comes up to say _O-K, O-K, I understand._

She takes a breath, letting her hands fall on her hips. She looks back and forth between the two of them, then her finger comes up, motioning to them both. “Say sorry.”

Callum’s head turns. The two boys exchange words.

He looks back, hesitant, as if looking for permission to get back to his task. Amaya levels him with a sigh, just to show she’s still not pleased (she had been told by her sister that a well-timed sigh could be devastating to a hearing child). After a moment, she lets her flat hand touch and fall from her chin. _Thank you_.

He nods, shuffling from his place on the ground next to the fire. He raises a closed fist and lets it circle a few times on his chest. _Sorry_.

She nods, and turns away.

Her book is in sight, almost back to her resting place by the tree, when there’s a tug on her arm. She turns.

There’s a shy smile on Soren’s face. He makes a two with his fingers and motions between them, raises his arm to tap his hand against his chin, then points away from the camp.

She smiles, nodding. She leads him away to an empty spot, free of soldiers or elves or children running underfoot. Well, teenagers, most of them. Amaya can’t help but think of them as kids. Even Soren—taller than she is now, beard growing in as full as his father’s.

The thought turns her stomach.

“Thank you,” Soren signs.

She points at him, then circles her fingers, eyebrows raised in a question. _You sign_?

“I’m learning,” he signs back.

“Why?”

He smiles, suddenly looking nervous, and also like he’s trying not to look nervous. Soren has never been a hard boy to read, but Amaya admits he’s been surprising her lately.

His hands rise again, movements shaky.

_Future—_ he signs— _you me-fight-together._ He smiles again, but he still looks unsure, as if he’s expecting her to be unhappy. _I-want._

Her chest warms.

She keeps her signs clear and slow. _Future-I-want-same as you._

He beams. He looks relieved.

“I’m sorry Callum snapped at you,” she continues, watching carefully to make sure he understands. “Everyone is tired from the fight. I’m sure he feels bad.”

He waves her off. “It’s okay. I know I—” His hands still, unsure of the next sign.

“If you need to talk, that’s okay.”

He nods. She watches his lips as he says, “I know I was probably being annoying or too pushy or something. I probably deserved it.”

Her brows furrow. “Why do you say that?”

“Well I—”

He can’t come up with an answer fast enough. She signs, “You’re being mean.”

His brows furrow. He repeats the last sign back to her.

_M-E-A-N,_ she spells.

His eyebrows raise. “I- I know, I was just saying—”

“No. Mean to yourself.”

He stares. It’s like he’s never encountered that concept before, Amaya thinks.

“Soren,” she spells slowly, “you’re a good boy. You have a good heart. When other people are mean, it’s not your fault.”

He blinks at her, owlish. “I don’t understand.”

“You understood the signs.” Her eyebrows aren’t raised—it’s not a question.

He gives a little nod.

She sighs, fingers of one hand wiggling as she tries to figure out what to say.

“When I was young,” she starts, making sure not to blend her signs together, “we didn’t know I was deaf. Doctors told my parents I was dumb, and that’s why I didn’t speak.” She pauses, flicking her pointer finger by her forehead. He nods back, confirming his understanding. She continues, “I knew other people treated me badly for it. They thought I was dumb, and they treated my sister and I differently. I couldn’t hear the words, but I understood that, and it hurt me.”

He stares at her. His face has fallen grave.

She flicks her finger again, and he nods.

“My sister is my heart,” she continues. “I didn’t blame her. I love my sister. But we were different, so people were mean.”

His eyes fall. Her instinct is to wave and get his attention, but she lets her hands still as she waits for him to look back up.

Eventually, he does. He’s understood her story—she can tell by the droop of his expression.

“Why are you telling me this?” he asks.

“You and your sister are different. She likes books. She likes magic. You like—”

“Fighting,” he supplies, glum.

She nods. “You like fighting. You don’t have the skills your sister does, but that doesn’t mean people should treat you badly.”

His eyes drop again. “Claudia’s really smart,” he says. Amaya has a hard time making out the words—she thinks he’s whispering them. “I’m not. But people aren’t- He never meant to—”

He catches himself, looking up with a guilty expression.

Amaya watches him. She’s not sure what she’s going to say will be accepted, but she’s never been known for tiptoeing around a situation. Even when the boys were kids, she didn’t put on child gloves for them. Her hands did the talking, and they could take her meaning or not.

“People can’t see you. They think you’re dumb, so they’re mean. Your dad was mean. Even Claudia. That’s not your fault. And I’m sorry I didn’t see that sooner.”

He swallows. His hands twist in the fabric of his cape.

Amaya’s fingers wiggle by her side, thinking. She hates that she has to limit her signs, but this isn’t a conversation she can pull Gren into, even that elf—Kazi. This needs to be between the two of them. He’s not going to listen if it isn’t.

Her fingers hum, itching to move and fly, to say, _Your father was a bastard and I’m glad he’s gone. I should have gotten you away—both of you—before all this happened. I’m sorry I didn’t see the truth sooner, I’m sorry I keep failing as a protector, I’m sorry people make you feel like less. You’re not less. You’re brave and noble and strong, no one should be making you feel that way. He was bad, Soren—he was wrong. You didn’t deserve him_.

She clenches and unclenches her hand.

He watches her from the corner of his eye as her hands rise again.

“There are people who make you feel good. Who are they?”

His lips stay closed. His hands are silent.

Her heart cracks.

“Those people, the good people—” Her hands don’t shake out of willpower alone. “-you find them. You hold on. That’s what it is to start a family.”

“I had a family,” he says. This, she knows, is in a whisper. “They didn’t have me back.”

Her hands drop. She nods.

He nods back, lips twitching. He raises a hand, palm meeting his cheek, his eye. He sniffs. “He really was a dick, huh?”

One corner of Amaya’s mouth pulls. She nods again.

“So what do I do?”

She tilts her head as she looks at him, not sure what to say. What does she even say? There’s no shape her hands can make that will undo all this hurt.

Her arms rise.

He stares back for a moment, cautious.

Her fingers wiggle as she waves him forward. 

After a moment, he steps into her arms. Their armor clinks together. She wraps her arms around him and squeezes, and after a moment, he hugs back, chin resting on her shoulder. She lets him stay there for a moment, just holding him as a long breath escapes his chest. Then, she drops her center of gravity, braces, and lifts him right off the ground. She can feel his shout in the hum of his armor, but she’s laughing, and after a moment, he is too. 

He pats her back, and she drops him. There’s a grin on his face when they part, and she doesn’t make comment on the shine on his cheeks. She reaches up and ruffles his hair—she hates that he’s grown taller than her—and he laughs again. 

He reaches up to his chin, then drops his flat hand. _Thank you_. 

“Find your people,” she signs back. “Hold on.” 

He’s still for a moment, watching her. His expression is soft, so soft she almost misses his words. 

“I think I just did.”


End file.
